Aftermath
by amidoh
Summary: The Great War has finally ended, and the Decepticons have lost. Starscream mulls their fate, and the fate of their leader.
1. Chapter 1

**In the Aftermath  
**

It was over. The Decepticons had lost, the rebellion was crushed. Survivors, those few and far between, were taken back to Cybertron to await judgement for their war crimes, defeated and disheartened and resigned to their inevitable fates of working forever as miserable slave drones.

It was not the idea of Optimus Prime for the few surviving Decepticons to be slaves and labourers and lower than Empties, but rather the punishment of the senate, who had been quick to re-establish their power as soon as it became clear the war was over. Stupid, cowardly scum who would not show their faces in danger...

A statue was erected in honour of the two Primes to have fought the uprising: Sentinel Prime, dead at Megatron's hands, and Optimus Prime, the young archivist who became the driving force behind victory. Starscream had been one of the labourers to work on it. He took a little satisfaction in the chip he had caused on the burnished gold of the metal. While filing Sentinel's head, he had lost his footing, slipped, fallen and kicked the idol's optic as he scrabbled for a hold while plunging to the ground.

He'd suffered a broken leg and a fractured wing from the accident, but it was worth it to have even such a small strike against the bigoted Autobot idiots.

Megatron had not fallen in battle.

He'd been taken back to Cybertron a prisoner. No one had seen him since, though there had been rumours spreading among the remaining Decepticons of a trial, whispers of a sentence. Starscream did not know how much of it he trusted. He barely trusted anything these days, when energon for the once-proud warriors was scarce enough to whine to the Autobots even the slightest mutterings of rebellion or malcontent.

Astrotrain had already been taken away and beaten for voicing his disgust at their Autobot supervisor, how his ego was bigger than his metaprocessor. No one knew who had snitched on him, but everyone was wary. There was no real conversation any more, not since the triple-changer had returned with a scratched chest and a broken jaw.

It seemed that the rumours of Megatron's trial and judgement, however, had not been exaggerated. Retrospectively, it seemed foolish to have expected anything different. Of course the senate would want to make an example of him. Of course they would want to dissuade any erstwhile dissenters from renewing their rebellion.

So the survivors had been dragged together, dishevelled and weakened through overwork, to a temporary stage darkened by a makeshift, crude but sturdy gibbet.

Prime would never have acquiesced to such a display as had followed, once the remaining Decepticons were herded into a tight-guard circle like mindless drones. Starscream was near the front, and he growled at those either side of him, who jostled his aching body.

Megatron was dragged in chains from whatever holding cell he had been kept in, his once-immaculate body of gunmetal and blazing red sullied with grime and dirt and imperfections. He seemed, to Starscream, almost dazed, not entirely responsive, not entirely aware of himself, as he was mocked and belittled and pulled onto the stage to stand before his warriors as though to give an oration.

Prime might have upheld that foolish nonsense about leniency and justice and fairness, but the newly-reinstated Autobot High Senate had no such qualms. When Megatron was forced to walk – or, more accurately, stumble – back and forth across the stage in a mockery of a parade, he still bore clear signs of cruel interrogation; small singes, slight dents dotted about his chassis, the peculiar way he dragged one leg stiffly rather than put weight on it – all spoke of torture.

It was almost unbearably humiliating and nearly impossible to watch. Starscream heard quiet groans of the warriors standing around him, groans of crushed defeat seeing their once glorious, untouchable leader paraded back and forth as a spoil of war, as an obedient broken-in turbopuppy.

Megatron was forced to kneel, to more quiet muffled groans from the imprisoned Decepticon forces. His great gunmetal head, stained with energon and waste oil, was forced to bow forward. One of the Autobots, a hulking great brute almost the size of Megatron himself, stood just in the warlord's line of vision, stroking a chamois down the barrel of a plasma rifle with sadistic slowness. Starscream saw Megatron raise his head a little to stare at this mech. It was clear he knew what was about to happen.

One of the guard stepped forward, tapped his finger against Megatron's chestplate in a silent command: open. Starscream felt a surge of inexplicable pride when Megatron did not obey. Even through everything, Decepticons would not cower before Autobots. That was what it had always been about, from the very start when Starscream had known Megatron as little more than a gladiator with a vision of what Cybertron should be. No submission to Autobot tyranny. At least their defeated leader could still uphold what was important.

... Not that it mattered in a situation like this. The small gesture of defiance was wiped aside instantly as the same guard who had made the demand simply clasped his fingers about the edges of Megatron's frontal chestplate and, with no small exertion of strength, tore it clean away.

Even the hardiest of Decepticons, who had seen far worse injuries caused by their own hands, grimaced and looked away. Even Starscream found himself fighting down the urge to retch.

A quiet gurgling noise was coming from the defeated warlord's vocaliser, but he had not screamed when his armour had been ripped away. Instead, once the agonising shocks died down, his stiffened back and thrown-back head relaxed again to bow forwards over his exposed spark, pulsing faintly, an instinctive attempt to protect the fragile little orb with his hands bound behind his back.

The guard gripped Megatron's helm with one hand and wrenched the kneeling warlord's head back, and, at the same time, the executioner threw aside his chamois and nudged the tip of his gun barrel against Megatron's spark. Starscream was one of the few Decepticons who could still look into Megatron's optics, who had not turned his head away from the gun-transformer.

He might have spent vorns trying to kill Megatron, but he would at least do his leader the honour of not looking away now. Assassination was one thing. This...

Never had Starscream heard a gunshot quite as clearly as he heard the one that killed Megatron. It was as though time stopped for a moment: though the discharge from rifle to spark had clearly been made, it was a moment before the glow extinguished, a moment Megatron was frozen in his position before he slumped forwards, his head landing on the feet of his killer.

For that tiny moment, there was silence, and then a muffled, anguished groan arose from the ranks of the now-leaderless Decepticons.

Starscream kept watching the stage as he and the soldiers he had once commanded were formed into lines and prepared to be led back to their workstations. He kept watching as Megatron's body was hauled up – the dead warlord was so large it took two Autobots to move him – and placed inside the gibbet, a grotesque device that only barely kept the Transformer caged within upright. He watched as the gibbet was hauled up on a winch, how it dangled and swayed back and forth, Megatron's sightless optics seeming to follow him...

He could not stomach any more. Even he had to look away.

The Decepticons were truly defeated. Megatron was dead, murdered like the miner he had been rather than the warlord he was. After all he had fought through, as a gladiator, as a crusader, as a warrior, he had been paraded like chattel and slaughtered like an animal.

Starscream was not a mech sensitive to injustice, and especially not when it came to Megatron, but he felt it then.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Almost a deca-cycle had passed, and the Decepticons toiled beneath the rule of their Autobot conquerors. Megatron's body still hung in the gibbet, a gruesome and voiceless overlord, supervising the labours of his once-great army through sightless dead optics. It was a cruel Autobot joke.

Several of the Decepticon labourers had stolen away one solar-cycle and, in a poorly-laid conspiracy of defiance, had tried to retrieve the corpse. They'd failed, caught by a tight and vigilant Autobot guard, and no one had seen them since.

Unsurprisingly, Starscream was not one of them. Megatron's death? At first, he had been numb, unable to believe that all their efforts would end in such a way. At first, he had burned with a desire for revenge, because the Decepticons were destroyed, because everything they had fought for was dismantled, but most of all because Megatron's death had been stolen. It should have been _his_ kill, not that of some weak-willed Autobot.

That had given way swiftly to anger. How _dare_ Megatron have the cast-cybertroid bearings to die in such a pathetic way? Who cared that the few strong-willed Decepticons still muttered of a martyr, whispered of another possible uprising? Megatorn was an idiot to let himself be executed! He should have been assassinated, like any great leader deserved...

It was so easy to let thoughts wonder these days. The tasks assigned to him were hardly taxing, especially not on an intelligent and quick-witted being such as the seeker, and the flying ban meant he could no longer lose his thoughts in the air. Orns dragged by just that little bit faster when he was somewhere else, venting his anger at an imaginary Megatron for leading them into this crushing defeat.

"Why was I not informed?" The ired tones ricocheted down the metal corridors harshly. From his menial task of polishing the dulled metal, Starscream rose his head towards the source of the voice that, though not a shout, carried subtle overtones of indignant and righteous anger.

It promised to be more interesting than cleaning with a chamois so old it was almost worn through. Glancing this way and that to make sure he would not be reprimanded for leaving his post, Starscream dared to venture to the source – the conference room, unsurprisingly – and peek through the gap in the door.

"Why did no one think to radio me before this execution went ahead?" Optimus Prime – of course it was him, Starscream would have recognised that voice anywhere - was appealing to a council of senators and magistrates. "I had given Megatron my word he would be treated honourably!"

"Then you stepped outside your jurisdiction," one of the senators said calmly; Starscream could not see which, but the agitated Prime turned to face the mech.

"Quite," another agreed, "you have no right dictating protocol to war criminals and then daring to refute the decisions of the High Senate."

"Why did you not at least think to radio me?" Demanded the Prime. Starscream shifted a little to get a better view through his tiny vantage point.

"You were on Seirrus-12. We did not think it prudent to waste our resources."

"Quite. There was no need for us to contact you while your concentration was meant to be off-world."

"Indeed."

For a moment, it looked like Prime was at a loss for words. Starscream sneered; how long he been wanting Prime to have his comeuppance? And to find it arguing about Megatron's honour! It was a sweet, if now meaningless, victory, for both the Decepticon second and his dead master.

"The rank of Prime is unimportant," came a new voice, from the imposing silver-and-black straight-backed mech who, up until now, had been silent. "Your use has waned now that the war is over. The senate has reinstated itself as the driving power of Cybertron. You are archaic."

Prime turned. In the brief flash of his face Starscream saw, he glimpsed surprise, and even the hints of relief. "Reverence...?"

"Megatron's fate was never yours to decide, it was ours. The senate has no need of a Prime whose morals are as shaky as yours."

"I had promised him fairness and justice," Prime argued, meeting the steely azure visor unflinchingly. "It was wrong of the senate not to contact me before murdering him!"

Another silence, but this one was potent and icy and weighed upon Starscream like a tutonium brick. For the first time, he was glad it was not him arguing his case in there, and at the same time, he took great pleasure in watching Prime squirm.

"Optronix," snapped Reverence, using Optimus' pre-war name, before the Matrix had chosen him to be its bearer. Though his voice was as emotionless as ever, it managed to carry a hint of potential rage, subtly hidden beneath the careful blankness of a politician.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"You will return to your archives. I am formally relieving you of your duties as a Prime. You are not, and never will be, the leader that Sentinel was."

Prime stood stiffly to attention. "With all due respect, my Lord, you are hardly in a position to make such a claim."

Another slight pause before the slighted Emirate kept speaking. When he did, there was a colder tone in his otherwise unchanged voice. "And you, archivist, are in no position to stand there and dictate to me what I should do with convicted war criminals."

"At least cut him down!" The Autobot leader cried, throwing his hands wide in appeal. "How long has he been hanging in that cage!?"

"He will remain there until it is clear in the sparks of his warriors that another uprising _will not_ be tolerated."

"And how will you judge that!? Freedom is the right of all sentient beings, not just Autobots!"

Reverence was not swayed. "They sacrificed their rights as Transformers when they dared to attack our Government, when they dared to murder Sentinel Prime. Megatron stays in the cage until _I_ decree it. You are dismissed."

Optimus saluted and turned on his heel. Too late, Starscream realised that, stooped at the door as he was, it was obvious that he was not as his station. Too late he scrabbled to get away and avoid a punishment. Prime opened the door and saw him scrambling away, and for a moment just stood and stared at him.

He saw the flash of fear in red optics, the flash of defiance, of mocking mirth, of shrewd calculation, and he looked away briefly, just briefly. When he glanced back, he held for a little while longer the gaze of a mech who, once, had tried with all his might to kill him.

Then, with the slightest nod to the defeated air warrior, a nod of conspiracy to silence that, somehow, reassured Starscream that he would not be revealed to his masters for leaving his assigned task, would not be punished with the severity he had quickly learned to be customary of the new government, the Prime – or Prime no longer, having been stripped of his rank – disappeared down the corridor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author Note: **Concerning that 'You're Immortal' thing. Basically, to cut a long story short, it was the result of a long night of BAWW and drama and talking to two people who really should know better than to dare me to troll myself on . It was epic win, while it lasted.

tl;dr – I did it for the lulz.

**Chapter 3**

'Dictation of rules for the defeated to abide by in the case of the abolishment of the slave caste.

Firstly; A strict curfew of two hundred kliks past the Seirrus-cluster zenith shall be enforced. All Decepticons are forbidden from being outside their barracks after this time. Any non-exempt individuals in violation of this amendment shall be shot without prejudice.

Secondly; A global ban on flying shall be imposed for all warriors in the defeated army. This includes flying under one's own power and under the power of a device, such as a jet-pack or booster rocket. Any non-exempt individuals in violation of this amendment shall be shot with the intent to kill.

Thirdly; Each Decepticon shall accept a strict rationing of energon and shall realise this as his share. Any non-exempt individual who attempts to enlarge his portion, be it by theft, bribery or trade, shall be shot without prejudice.

Fourthly; No Decepticon or mech convicted of being a Decepticon-sympathiser shall be allowed the right to vote or to run for any office of power, including attempting to sway the vote of others or joining in political campaigns. Any non-exempt individuals found in violation of this amendment shall be imprisoned for a period of no less than thirty orns.

Fifthly; Any Decepticon involved or suspected to be involved in any underground or terrorist activities shall be executed before a full audience as an example to his people.

Sixthly; No material expressing Decepticon sympathies or promoting the Decepticon philosophy shall be published. Any violations to this amendment shall result in all copies of the questioned material being destroyed, with the author or authors being interrogated by the inquisition and then imprisoned for no less than two vorns.'

---

These electronic posters appeared all throughout the cities, signed by most of the senators and counter-signed by Aeschor, the chief of on-world security and military affairs.

The Decepticons, disheartened and defeated, did not fight the new regime, despite that it had been proposed by a mech who had, once, been one of their own. Emirate Ratbat, once a senator who had fallen foul of Soundwave, had claimed mind-control to be responsible for his part in the war, and, as a high-borne, his story had been believed by the council. He had not only been reinstated in his role as Senator, but made Emirate of Polyhex, filling in the vacancy left by the previous ruler's death.

Optimus Prime stared at the glowing neon turquoise of the words in disbelief. This was not what he had had in mind when he had petitioned in person before the high court that the slave caste, into which all the Decepticons had fallen post-war, be abolished. He had wanted to remove the restrictions to their freedom. Instead, crueller ones had been imposed.

"Senate's cracking down on them, huh?" Jazz asked quietly, standing at Prime's shoulder. "I can't say I'm too fond of them either, but this does seem a little harsh."

"It seems," said Prime calmly, "that the government has become paranoid of another uprising and wishes to stamp out such a thing before it can even form. If they are not careful, they will create just the thing they are trying to avoid with such a regime."

"And what's this powslag I hear about you not being a Prime anymore?"

The red-bodied Autobot turned to look calmly at Jazz. "That decree was overruled by the senate council. They have deemed Reverence unfit to make any decisions concerning the death of Sentinel Prime. His judgements are clouded."

"Well, yeah, he just spent the last fifty thousand vorns in mourning for Sentinel's death. I guess his perception would be pretty skewed."

"Besides," Prime added, "I am still the bearer of the Autobot Matrix. Until I die, that means, it will have no need to choose a new bearer. I will not force anyone to call me Prime, or even Optimus if they feel I do not suit the role, but that role is what I have become."

"No one's questioning that, Prime."

"Except Reverence."

"He's only one mech."

"A very powerful mech, holding influential contacts to other very powerful mechs. Though – hmm, this is interesting," he added, reading through the counter-signatures on the decree of rules for the Decepticons to follow, "I do not see his signature on here. They've even got some of the Alpha caste to sign. I see Mirage's signature, and Tracks', and a few others I recognise... but not Reverence."

"Does it matter?" Jazz asked. The war had stolen the lilt from his voice. Prowl's death had been hard on him. "The decree was still passed, whether or not Reverence bothered to sign it. It's still here. It's still th'law now."

Prime shook his head, shrugged, turned away. "It's not important. I was just thinking out loud to myself."

Jazz turned when Prime did, following his retreating leader. "You worried you might just have made everything worse?"

"It is not in my hands to make these decisions," responded the Matrix-bearer enigmatically, his voice carefully and blankly neutral, "it is in the senate's hands. They know best."

oOo

There were hardly any buildings left here any more. Not much had survived the aerial raids, the ground-based bombings. Smoking husks of what were great, towering structures reached into the sky; some of the fires still burned even now, smouldering lazily many vorns after they were ignited by explosions and dying mechs. It was a grisly reminder of the size of them, of how much they had devoured.

Aside from the Autobot capital Iacon and the science facilities of Nova Cronum and Altihex, all of which had been razed almost to the ground by the Decepticons, Kolkular was the worst hit city-state on Cybertron. Very little remained after the war, and the streets and passways once lit with neon and filled with the cries and voices of traders, consorts of gladiators were eerie and silent.

Unafraid, Prime walked the empty streets thoughtfully, pausing to stand next to what had once been, to his knowledge, a small shop for mechs to place bets on which gladiator would win in the Pit. Fighting the illegal bloodsport in the south states of the planet was what had led Sentinel Prime to his unfortunate death at Megatron's hands...

Echoes of the once-busy state still lingered. Prime glanced to the side, feeling as though he was under scrutiny, and saw several pairs of glowing red lights glaring suspiciously at him from the shadows. When he looked back, there were more surrounding him.

For a long while, the mechs in the shadows did not move, just stalking Prime, moving when he moved, carefully and fluidly and almost silently. He knew they had him surrounded; when he stepped forward some paces, he could hear the circle move with him. Every now and again, a sneer was heard, a quiet jeer or disgusted stage-whispered insult, just loud enough to reach his audios.

"Stand down," called a voice with authority, though no small amount of mirth was behind that tone, and, one by one, the red-eyed mechs fell back, their oppressive hunting circle widening.

"Welcome to Kaon, Prime." Starscream sneered, stepping forwards from the inky murk cast by one of the destroyed towers. "... Or, what's left of it."

Prime said nothing.

"So what brings you to this corner of the universe? Come to see we're behaving ourselves?" taunted the jet, to catcalls and snarls from his fellow Decepticons. "Come to mock us? Come to rub it in our faces that you won?"

"No," replied the Autobot calmly. "I came to inform you that Megatron's body has been cut down from the display cage." He had to raise his voice over the sudden clamour from his almost-invisible audience, all of whom suddenly started forwards as though their proximity would make a difference. "I have come to offer you the chance to decide what to do with him."

Starscream's expression darkened, all joviality that had been there dropping away in an instant. "We don't want him. Dispose of him yourself."

This assertion caused an instant uproar, every Decepticon rushing to discredit Starscream's words.

"How can you say that?"

"What a hypocritical ingrate, Screamer, how can you let _them_ keep Megatron's body!? He deserves more than _that_, you glitch-spawned fraghead!"

"Because Megatron was a failure!" Starscream snapped, adamant that he wanted nothing to do with his fallen leader.

"He was a martyr!" Protested the others, "a role model! An inspiration!"

"An inspiration for what? Being dead!? Losing a war to a weaker enemy? Letting them kill him?" Even Starscream, stubborn as he was, could see when he was getting nowhere. Pride stung, he threw his hands up in defeat. "Fine, do what you like, you transistorless cowards!"

Astrotrain stood forwards, his jaw still a little lopsided from the beating he had received several orns prior. "Please bring him to us, Prime. We would like to honour our leader."

"Next orn," answered Optimus quietly, "I will bring him to this spot, and you will then be able to do with him as you please. Go about your business now."

With a shuffling of metal and even one or two quiet murmurs of appreciation, the Decepticons dispersed, once again disappearing into the wreckage of the city they had once dominated. One, however, remained, glaring at Prime heatedly, fairly smouldering in the emotion ensconced within his chassis.

"... Something wrong, Starscream?" Optimus asked neutrally, though at first the only answer he received was a low growl. Then the jet was beckoning him, demanding that the Autobot leader walk with him. Acquiescing if only to humour the defeated lieutenant, Prime agreed, and the two strode through the destroyed polar city.

Surly and churlish, the jet kicked at scraps of charred metal as they walked, growling and sometimes muttering to himself. Then, suddenly, he whirled on Prime.

"It was you, wasn't it!? That's why you're here to give us Megatron, out of some stupid misplaced guilt!" Seeing the confusion in Prime's optics, he clarified: "_You_ were the one who got the senate to release us from slavery and give us some stupid rules to follow!"

There was nothing to be gained from lying. "Yes. It was me."

"_You frag_!" Spat the seeker. "You stupid glitch! Why the slag would you do that, haven't you done enough to us? It was thanks to _you_ that we were slaves in the first place, there was no need to make it worse!"

But the seekers were proud creatures, Prime reasoned to himself as he listened to his once-feared foe berate him.

"At least we were kept energised," hissed Starscream, "at least we were _safe_."

"I wanted to return your free will to you."

"With the senate decree? May as well have been slaves."

"I gave you back your pride," protested Optimus. "Your honour. Your freedom. Freedom is the right of -"

" - all sentient beings, whatever," Starscream finished Prime's speech for him, sneering and mocking and berating all at the same time, "but what good's pride? Honour!? Can you recharge from it?"

Prime found himself with nothing to say; his assumption that the notion of pride might sway Starscream had been wrong, after all. Yet that philosophy...

"I had no idea," he ventured quietly, "that you were from...."

Starscream sneered as the almost-silent statement tapered off into nothing. "Say it, Prime! 'From such low breed'? That's what you were going to say, wasn't it? 'From such low stock'?" He laughed bitterly, "what did you think the Decepticons _were_!? Disillusioned plebs? Bored rich-mechs giving up hunting their turbofoxes?"

The Autobot tilted his head to the side. "I had not thought about it...."

"Megatron was a miner from C-19." The seeker smirked softly, his warped humour returning. "So were Rumble and Frenzy. My seekers and I were reject military models who became pitfighters. Astrotrain and Blitzwing were the failed experiments of Shockwave and Nova Prime, and the Constructicons were the result of Jhiaxus' twisted research. Other than that traitor Ratbat and his lackey Soundwave, we were all 'from low breed', Autobot."

Optimus did not answer for almost a klik. It took him that long to find the courage he needed to apologise. At last, he did. "I... am sorry."

"Save it," spat the jet, "I don't care for your foolish sentimental drivel." He turned his sharp gaze back to Prime suspiciously as though something had just crossed his mind. "I didn't think the senate would be so lenient with disposing of Megatron's body," he pointed out after a slight pause, and there was something almost accusatory in his voice. "I did not think they would return it to us."

"They haven't." Prime responded with a small shrug. "I told them I would dispose of it. None of them have any idea that I am giving it to you."

An odd expression, somewhere between a glare and an amused grin crossed Starscream's face. "Better watch yourself, you'll end up getting demoted again. And you'd better stop sympathising with Decepticons too, or you might get shot."

They paused in their walking. Prime placed his hand on the dulled metal surface of what had once been the towering centre point of Kaon. Vorns of neglect had erased the sheen that had once made Sentinel Prime's base of operations stand out from the city that had the worst reputation on the whole of the planet.

Starscream looked up to the stars. ".... I'd better go," he murmured quietly, "or I'll miss curfew. I can't move as fast now I'm not allowed to fly."

Without another word to Prime, no goodbye, no 'by-your-leave' and certainly no thanks, Starscream turned and left, walking back towards his barracks where once he might have flown the skies freely.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Reverence did not look up. "Report."

"It was as you said, my Lord, he is already stirring trouble in the senate; he's persuaded the High Council to have Starscream detained," the military advisor responded immediately, with a smart salute. "He is to be arrested at the first available opportunity."

"... Starscream?" Finally, the Altihexian Emirate looked up from the data display unit he had been brooding over.

"The Decepticon Second-in-Command, sir. The jet."

A curt nod. "Was there a reason he was not incarcerated with his master? It would have been much neater." The Emirate did not wait for a response. "What is your role in this?"

"I have been asked to carry out the arrest, my Lord, and when the accused is in custody he will be charged before a full court. I will be required to carry out the hearing. Your orders?" Aeschor still stood stiffly to attention, optics focused straight ahead, the very picture of military discipline.

Reverence did not look around to see. "I don't like it. It's too messy, and I don't like imprisoning a mech on no grounds. If the council had wanted him locked away for his activities during the war, they should not have let him free in the first place. I see no reason to take him in unless he has committed some crime since."

"Doubtless Optimus Prime will protest if this 'Starscream' is picked up for war crimes now."

The black-bodied Emirate raised one hand to his visor in a long-suffering but silent gesture. ".... do not mention him to me."

"I am sorry, my Lord."

"But what you say is true." Finally, Reverence turned to face his subordinate, the expression on his face inscrutable. "Did he bring that up when he spoke to you about it?"

A single nod from the military director, "yes, Lord, he told me to find some pretence under which I could arrest the Decepticon without arousing Prime's suspicion."

"And what excuse has the High Council given for this?"

Aeschor bowed forward slightly. "Apparently many of the councillors will not rest easy until the Decepticons are fully crushed after having seen their authority figures dealt with. Most of them are becoming fearful of another imminent revolution now that the 'Cons have been set free. To my understanding, sir, it is another tactic to keep them in line."

"So we're looking at another execution?"

"Most likely, sir."

"Hmm." Expression unreadable and unchanging, Reverence paced back and forth thoughtfully. "... Very well, I want you to go along with it for now. Organise a strike force to take the Decepticon into custody with the least amount of publicity. You will carry out the court hearing, and then you will return to your post at the Hexagon. I want to be updated every time our friend there brings forward any suspicious proposition."

Aeschor nodded once, "as you wish, my Lord."

"Dismissed." Turning his back, Reverence did not see his loyal underling stride away.

oOo

Megatron had been laid to rest as the Decepticons thought would be the most suitable and lasting memorial to their dead leader; his body had been carefully arranged, almost a statue on a plinth, in the heart of the Kaon barracks, where the charismatic warlord had started his revolution, where the Autobots rarely ever ventured these days.

From the grisly tribute, his sightless optics watched over his warriors. Some of the less warlike mechs, and those with poetic tendancies, or fancies for the romantic, ventured to the tiny plaza that the corpse dominated and sat there awhile, as though Megatron's presence would inspire them. Some came away stronger for it, some came away angry, some defeated.

Many mechs avoided the remains, never went near, either because they had no wish to see Decepticon shame, the icon of their defeat, or because they could not stomach to look upon Megatron dead. Battle-hardened warriors like Sixshot, dissenters and malcontents who swore that Megatron was an idiot and always had been, those fiercely loyal as Skywarp who believed the fallen silver robot deserved better treatment.

And, of course, Starscream. He spared Megatron neither thought nor glance, but carried on about his proud life with cold disdain, despite barely having enough energon to keep him functional, despite being forced to carry out menial tasks to keep him occupied, despite staring longingly up to the skies, despite the boredom of being back in the barracks for curfew.

Even Starscream had his honour, skewed though it was. As Megatron's Second-in-Command, he had naturally become some sort of figurehead for the remaining Decepticons, someone to rally around, a throwback to what they once had been. Not quite a leader, but even those who openly disliked him sometimes listened to what he had to say, followed his guidelines.

"You're doing _what_!?" The jet demanded, both horrified and disgusted all in one. His fellow seeker glared back at him easily.

"It's better than hanging around here waiting to be terminated! It's not like you're in any position to tell me what to do, _Screamer_."

Starscream growled, angry and somehow betrayed, "so you're willing to let some Autobot filth _maul_ you with its paws so you don't have to stay here? You disgust me! You're not worthy to be called a Decepticon!"

A thin smirk twisting his pale face, Skywarp's optics bored into Starscream's unflinchingly. "There's nothing wrong with getting fed and being given somewhere to live where I don't have to obey some stupid curfew, is there? Or do you _like_ curfew? Afraid of the dark?"

"There's everything wrong with letting yourself be some Autobot's _whore_!"

"Consort," corrected the black-bodied seeker, his expression souring, his tone acerbic. "Don't you call me a whore."

"_WHORE_!" Screeched Starscream, his jaw clenched tight with rage. "Don't you have any dignity? Any honour, any pride? Self-respect!?"

Skywarp snarled, visibly restraining himself; he had almost lashed out at his former Air Commander's screeched insult. "Can you eat 'em? If not, I don't need them. And neither do you. Wake up and smell the slag, Starscream, we're not top of the world anymore."

With that, he turned and left without waiting for Starscream to come up with another infuriated comeback. Seething and feeling slighted before the warriors who had once been under his command and from whom he enjoyed having respect, the red-bodied warrior soon followed, storming out of the barracks and through the deserted Kaonian streets.

The Decepticon ideal was tarnishing with age, the bearers of that ideal falling through misuse and blindness and hopelessness for their situation. Starscream, for one, knew he would not make any effort to adapt. He swore it to himself. The Autobots will not conquer _me_, it was a private promise, a vow of strength and pride and stubbornness. He would not end up dead like Megatron, or sleeping with some rich Autobot like Skywarp.

"Hey." A voice called out to him. Starscream paused his stride and looked back to see a nondescript grey mech sitting on a plate of metal from one of the fallen towers. He was almost exactly the same shade as it.

The seeker's face twisted, he turned his back and started to walk away.

"Hey!" The same robot called him back. Irritated, at the end of his tether, Starscream whirled on him.

"_What_!?"

A small smile lingered over the stranger's faceplates. "Hmm... nothing."

Red optics narrowing, Starscream proved how he had managed to stay Megatron's second despite his belligerence; in an instant, he had the unfortunate mech pinned back to the metal he sat on with one cobalt hand in a choking grip around the grey neck. Too angry for words, only a dangerous snarl came from his vocaliser.

The response was a wheezy chuckle. "All right, all right. I was just messing with you. Let me up."

Starscream did not.

"You got anything to say, you can say it perfectly well right there. You say something that I don't want to hear and I'll kill you."

"Prime wants to see you."

The seeker's hand fell away from the grey mech's throat.

"... Why?" He demanded suspiciously, his burning scarlet optics narrow slits on the dark face. "I've already said everything I have to say to him. I want nothing more to do with Autobot scum."

"Prime wants to see you," repeated the other robot, and the seeker noted there was something almost familiar about his voice. "It'll be worth your time."

Starscream sneered. "So where is he? Too much of a coward to show his face? He had no problems being here before!"

"He wants your meeting to be private."

The seeker drew away, took some few steps back. "I don't trust you, and I don't trust him either."

"Your loss."

It might have ended there, had Starscream insatiable curiosity not got the better of him, had his lust for power – power over a Prime, at that – been so tempted by the thought that Prime had a proposition of some kind for him that might make his situation that much more bearable.

".... is he far?" He asked, leery, the dregs of his anger and indignation at Skywarp not fully dissipated.

"About two kliks flight, at your speed."

Starscream's optics narrowed, almost imperceptibly this time. "The flying ban."

"Aw yeah, I forgot. Well, shouldn't take too long to walk it."

Slipping down from the destroyed wall he sat on, the nameless mech strode away, not looking back to see whether or not Starscream was following. Fighting with his own uncertainties, his own lingering, nagging suspicions that there was something wrong, the thirsting jet eventually following his footsteps.

oOo

"Slag it," Starscream grit out for the third time after a joor and a half of trudging through Kaon's remains, "I'm going home, and for slag's sake don't try to stop me this time! It was a good joke but I'm done bein' led about in circles."

The grey mech in front of him stopped and, after a klik or two, turned. "You're going to go back?"

"Of course!" Snapped the jet, "don't try and stop me, Autobot. I have no respect for _your_ kind."

"Won't you just stay a little longer? I'm sure my friends are around here somewhere..."

Starscream's dark face twitched and his body inched forward the slightest bit; it looked as though he had barely stopped himself from leaping and attacking his irritating companion.

A small smile tickled the corners of the other figure's mouth; for but an instant, he looked up at the stars, and then his gaze was firmly back on Starscream. When he spoke again, his voice was louder, sharper, the voice of one used to giving orders. "Formation!"

"Wha-" The Decepticon barely had time to form the word before a full regiment of the special-ops deployment of the law enforcement on Cybertron had him surrounded, a score of guns pointed at his head. Whirling to see himself encased on all sides by the grim-faced gunners, all of whom looked poised to shoot should he try and make a run for it, or fly to safety, he turned back to the grey robot only to see him flicker and fade to be replaced by the green chassis of Autobot Hound.

"Decepticon jet Starscream," Aeschor stated calmly and without hesitance, stepping out from behind a piece of debris, "consider yourself under military arrest. Well done, Hound."

"Thank you, sir."

A quivering snarl twitched Starscream's mouth, both anger that Hound's hologram had deceived him and fear at his situation, but he managed a desperate sneer. "Arrest? For what? I've done nothing."

"Oh no, you're quite right," the military director carefully polished a sliver of the grey Kaoninan dust from his arm, "but in... seventeen-point-nine-six-two astroseconds, you will have broken clause one of the Decepticon-caste act. We are more than encouraged to arrest law-breakers."

Nonplussed, Starscream leered, glaring at his captors. Then, slowly and terribly, it dawned on him, and he raised his head to look at the sky – and the taunt had substance, the accusation had meaning. The Seirrus star cluster was past its zenith.

".... curfew..." stumbled the jet in a sickened whisper to himself as the team of law-enforcement closed in and Aeschor took him into custody.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Starscream turned his head away without saying a word, the courage that was displayed with that action in reality little more than his stubborn refusal to give his captors what they wanted – though how long that would hold out against the fear of what they might do to him remained to be seen. They'd broken Megatron's leg...

"You're involved in the anarchist movement, aren't you!?" One of the burly mechs spat in his face while growling the question; the other of the two had tilted his head up by forcing the tip of his rifle beneath Sarscream's chin. "ADMIT IT!"

The jet did not answer; though he could no longer turn his head away, he offlined his optics, an action which only served to enrage the two inquisitors further. They'd beaten Megatron half-dead...

Suddenly the front sight of the gun was no longer digging into his throat. Falling forwards a little, not having expected the withdrawal of the weapon and being tugged by strong hands, Starscream's optics flickered on in alarm. Before he could fully re-balance his equilibrium, the butt of the gun had slammed down on the back of his head in a stunning blow.

Dazed, the jet slumped forward, his thoughts racing and his obstinate 'courage' now fleeting. He opened his mouth to speak while at the same time steeling himself for another blow but, though he could not form any words, though his head was still pounding, no blow came.

"To attention!" A curt voice had snapped out, and immediately both interrogators had left Starscream to stand in a salute to the newcomer. "I did not authorise you to lay a hand on him. Explain yourselves."

Immediately, the smarter of the two grunts, who was quicker to realise that they both could potentially be in serious trouble, pointed at his companion. "He told me we had been ordered, sir!"

With a venomous glare at his traitorous friend, the second of the two stumbled for an excuse. "W-well, sir, when the general brought him in, I thought he was an insurgent, sir, and we've been told to interrogate all the insurge-"

"Silence!" snapped the haughty Emirate. "Aeschor would have ordered no such thing. Get out of my sight, you wretches."

Starscream looked up groggily, recovering from the blow to the head, though his face twisted with disgust when he saw who had saved him from the inquisitors. "Ratbat!"

"_Emirate_ Ratbat," corrected the politician smoothly. "... Long time no see, _Commander_."

"I'll kill you!" the Decepticon second snarled, tugging at his restraints in a vain attempt to reach his former comrade, "you traitor! Coward! _Coward_!"

"Silence," came the cold command. "You're in no position to be making threats at me, especially when I am here to save your chassis."

Glaring suspiciously at Ratbat, who stood regal and tall in his old body rather than the cassette-form Soundwave had forced him into, Starscream said nothing.

"You will be taken from here to Court Room Alpha in two breems," Ratbat explained calmly, "where the High Council intends to have you tried and convicted of your war crimes against the Autobot government. You will not come out of this alive."

"Thanks for telling me," growled Starscream hatefully.

Ratbat held up a hand. "... I have the power to clear your name, Starscream. Listen to what I have to offer. Swear fealty to me, agree to have me as your Lord, and I will let you free. Swear absolute loyalty to me and I will not allow the council to come after you again."

Starscream was silent for almost a klik, then he snarled and whipped his head to the side, his optics flashing momentarily shrewd and calculating. "You coward, you make me sick! I would rather join Megatronon the executioner's gun than follow the likes of _you_!"

"Such loyalty," taunted the Emirate, "when the Starscream _I_ remember used to leap at any chance to denounce Megatron. Why join him when you spent so long trying to kill him? He'll have no love for _you_, you traitor. Besides, why would you choose death over life? Don't you want to live?"

The jet's crimson optics narrowed. "You are scum," he growled, "Megaton was a better mech than you. You are the misbegotten slag of Cybertron that not even the Empties would feast upon. I would never follow you. I'll take you down with me, filth, I'll see you dead!"

"So be it." The Emirate's expression soured and he turned his back pretentiously on his prisoner and stalked away. "You want to let some Autobot kill you? You'll get your wish."

Uncharacteristically, Starscream was silent.

oOo

Court Room Alpha was easily the largest of the hearing chambers, with seats enough for a full audience, a senatorial panel, an Overminder and a small squadron guard. Only the most notorious of criminals had been tried in this place; the leaders of the last wars, traitors, body-traffickers and proven murderers. It was known as the court room with two sentences: death or slavery. In no one's memory had a defendant in a trial here ever walked free.

Although Ratbat had originally been selected to be Overminder for this case thanks to his gruelling work to start rebuilding Kaon, it had been decided by a council that he was unfit to hold a position of authority in a judging of a fellow Decepticon, as it could not be proven beyond reasonable doubt that he held no bias or grudge against Starscream. Reverence had taken his place and sat in the highest chair, surveying the room.

It was packed full of Autobot and Decepticon alike. News of Starscream's arrest had spread fast; all it needed was a purposefully loud conversation in an area frequented by Decepticons and the remainder of the faction knew by the next orn.

In fairness, the Overminder's job held very little influence over the court. His role was simply to make sure that the trial proceeded; it was the job of the military director to decide upon a punishment and of the senatorial panel to say if that punishment was too harsh for their liking.

Starscream was led in, energon handcuffs circling both his wrists, and forced to the defendant dock, where he stood in the centre of the circular room, all eyes upon him. Trembling almost imperceptibly, he glared up at Reverence and the senate in obstinacy that was easily perceived to be defiance.

To the side of the accused's dock stood his guard, heavy-built burly mechs who would probably have no trouble ripping his fragile wings from his body, or smashing in his cockpit should he try to make a break for it. That one to his left had to be almost as tall as Megatron had been...

Then, straight-backed and to attention, Aeschor had the speaker's stand, obediently fulfilling his role in leading the court.

For the aeons of desolation in the war, the court rooms had been deserted. Now, Decepticons stooped in the higher galleries, packed tight and murmuring, while stony-faced Autobots sat at ease on high-backed chairs, their expressions without mercy. The seeker barely had the courage to look up at them all, unable to face the humiliation, unable to face what they were capable of doing to Megatron and what they were more than capable of doing to him.

The curiosity of seekers was notorious, and Starscream was no exception. His red optics flickered briefly over the mechs gathered to watch his downfall and saw the one mech he had not wanted to be there. Prime stood near the senate council, probably only there as his rank demanded, staring at the unfortunate captive with unfathomable azure optics and no expression behind that faceplate.

Starscream held his gaze for only a split astrosecond, then looked away with a terrible scowl. Of all mechs, he had not wanted the humiliation; having his one-time mortal enemy witness such a debasing trial, of him paraded as a common criminal, was unbearable. Not for the first time, the jet felt a pang of understanding for what these senatorial filth had done to his hated master Megatron.

Standing motionless until the clerks had motioned for silence, the military director raised his head and then stared hard at Starscream, who could not return the gaze.

"Designation: Starscream," he started, voice hard and unforgiving. "Decepticon jet. You face two hundred and thirteen charges of kidnapping, terrorism, conspiracy to murder, conspiracy to pervert the course of justice, conspiracy to treason, conspiracy to anarchy, treason, grievous bodily harm, assault, theft from higher castes, theft from the senate," the general paused a moment, changing his place on the datapad.

Starscream stared at him expressionlessly. Glancing up only briefly, Aeschor continued,

"For being a willing accessory to murder, using a dangerous implement with intent to kill, for the murder of Lord Cascade, for the murder of Autobot Prowl,"

The jet growled almost silently,

"for being a tool in the murder of Senator Decimus, for being a tool in the murder of Sentinel Prime," here Aeschor glanced at Reverence, who gave the barest nod, "for perpetuating illegal bloodsports, for arson and, finally, breaking curfew. How do you plead?"

Starscream straightened. "Emirate Ratbat," he spat, "has been lying to you. He was never under -"

"Silence." Snapped Aeschor coldly. "Answer the question, Decepticon. How do you plead?"

"It doesn't really matter, does it?" The jet grumbled sulkily, snatching his body away from the guards either side of him as they had moved forward should he try to change the subject again. No one was willing to hear a word against Ratbat now, especially not from a mech like Starscream, "you've all already made your decisions, haven't you? You've already passed your judgement, so it makes no difference."

In the quiet but escalating chattering that built up after that statement, Aeschor turned his head to Reverence, who stared at him calmly and nodded once. Turning back to Starscream, the security chief rose his voice above the quiet murmurs.

"Then we will take your lack of plea as an admission to guilt and will sentence you accordingly for your crimes. You will be taken from this place to energon mine C-19 where you will serve two hundred orns of hard labour. Upon finishing that task, you shall be secured to an electron generator and a resistant current shall be pulsed through your spark until you are dead. Do you understand?"

Fear's tendrils gripped Starscream's cowardly spark, his trembling by far more pronounced now. Shaking but still managing to snarl, he shook his head this way and that. Aeschor was giving orders to the guards to take him back to his holding cell to await transportation to C-19, and, in that moment, the instinct of self-preservation took hold of the jet once again.

As one of the guard-mechs approached, the seeker kicked out viciously; taken by surprise, the mech stumbled back and, before anyone else could react, Starscream had taken to the air as only those with a seeker's reflexes could, smashing through the fragile domed ceiling in bipedal mode, the energy cuffs limiting his transformation as he disappeared to the freedom of the skies.

The court room was a sudden flurry of activity as the Decepticons threw out a raucous cheer and as the Autobots hurried to scramble an aerial search party, determined to bring their convict back to their justice. Most were still cheering as security mechs gathered round in a tight formation to lead them back to their barracks as chattel.

Prime alone stood calmly in the rapidly emptying audience gallery, motionless among the rushing, yelling figures around him, staring at the shattered hole in the ceiling, feeling guiltily relieved that Starscream had gone – if it meant he had not broken another promise of fairness, it was a fair price to pay.

The only problem now was that Starscream had, inadvertently or not, made himself an icon of freedom for the surviving Decepticons, and _that_ was something that the paranoid senate could not allow to remain unchecked.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author Note:** Heh, sorry for the delay in updates, my term ended with some nasty exams and an influx of essays. I can hopefully get some writing done quicker now, though.

**Chapter 6**

"This is getting out of hand," snapped Ratbat, striding imperiously over the ruined security complex in Kaon's centre, his cloak-like wing struts flicking out behind him irritably.

"Sir?" questioned Aeschor from his place at the Emirate's side, his optics dead ahead as he kept step with the arrogant city leader.

"Don't you 'sir' me, you ignorant incompetent piece of scrap! Look around you! It's disgusting."

Aeschor obediently broke his deadpan forward gaze and glanced around him, but he did not offer any verbal response.

"Why isn't my renovation project underway?" The emirate was raging, tearing through the streets, his temper high and completely beyond reason. "Because my resources are being stolen by those _filth_! Double the guard – no! _Triple_ the guard! I will see those degenerates ousted from my city!"

"With all due respect, Lord Ratbat," the general said calmly, "I have stationed my elite in Kaon. They are more than capable of subduing unarmed Decepticons."

Ratbat turned, anger flashing across his face as he struck the military chief sharply across the side of the head with one hand.

"Know your place!" The irate screech hurt Aeschor's already-ringing audio receptors. "You are a soldier, it is not your duty to question my orders. It is your duty to _obey_!" The Emirate was almost beside himself with fury, whirling dangerously on Cybertron's military general.

"Yes Lord." Aeschor did not rise to the belittlement of his position, instead allowing Ratbat to treat him as some common footmech, wishing to avoid any confrontation with the uncontrollable Emirate.

"Triple your patrols. Detain as many Decepticons as you can. We'll smoke Starscream out of hiding by killing his scum friends or make them realise he is no role model. Either way, I'll win. I will win against those slag-sparked fraghead glitches...!"

Breaking off halfway through his ranting tirade, Ratbat stood, his vents cycling almost twice their normal speed, before he abruptly turned on his heel and stalked away with neither another word nor waiting for the nod of obedience given by Aeschor.

The general waited until Ratbat was gone and then called his accompanying lieutenant to him.

"Hound," he spoke quietly, softly, but with purpose, "I am placing you in charge of this operation. Reinforce the guard, perhaps increase them by half again, but do not make any arrests unless you see a law broken."

"Very good, sir. And the Emirate?"

"..." Aeschor studied his greend-bodied subordinate closely, "How are you at making yourself invisible?"

"Not good, sir."

"Really? The Prime told me one of his soldiers had that skill, and for some reason I was under the impression that it was you."

Hound shook his head slowly. "No, sir, that's Mirage. I was stationed with him quite frequently, which might be the source of the confusion. I'm good with projecting things that are not there, he's good at hiding things that are."

"Mirage? That Alpha from the towers at Altihex?"

"Yes sir."

Aeschor was silent a moment, calculating. "... what are the chances of his cooperation?"

"Slim, sir. Sorry. He was attacked by his consort two orns ago and is in repairs, he was almost killed – and even if he was fully functional, he does not care for the military."

The military supervisor made some incoherent noise of disgust and rocked back on his heels in contemplation.

"Ignorant, ungrateful rich-mechs..." he hissed, mostly to himself, his tone bitter and biting and somewhat low in irritation.

"Sir?"

"Never mind, Hound." A dark hand waved in dismissal. "I shall have to think of a different approach."

The Jeep-transformer tipped his head to the side in thought. "I can, if you like, sir, have a try at hiding myself, if I project a hologram of my surroundings," he volunteered, his voice strong.

The general nodded. "You are a good mech, Hound. Very well, I want you to follow Ratbat. Report his movements and his contacts back to me – but do not put yourself in unnecessary danger, understand? He's in a state of paranoia at the moment, and he's likely to shoot anyone he deems a threat. If you think he is becoming suspicious, pull out, and I shall rethink."

"Yes, sir." Hound saluted and, at a nod from his commander, dismissed himself.

oOo

Toor, the Holy Ground, was deserted, which was, in itself, surprising. Prime bent to brush his fingers over the burnished gold of the ground. A layer of dust came away.

Some few, scant footprints left trails through the layers of dust and detriment, converging to an imperfect line leading towards the tiny settlement that marked the most holy place on Cybertron.

It was said that Toor rested upon the part of the planet that became Primus' chest plating. It was said that, deep beneath the metal surface, the spark of the great god still pulsed, slow and steady in his slumber. A small shrine marked the place where the flawless metal was said to be the thinnest, and a settlement had grown up around it, offering places of refuge, an oil tavern and several small souvenir-like stands vending a variety of holy charms and upgrades.

Since the war, however, not many had passed through Toor. Faith had diminished.

Prime looked to the side and then crossed to the small angular building that marked the holiest spot of metal on the entire planet. The human-beings on Earth would have called it a church, or perhaps a temple. The Autobot commander paused only briefly, glancing at the dust-smeared ground, before entering the annex.

The outer cella was deserted, as was the inner sanctum. It was rare, even in a place as barren as Toor, to see such a shrine without at least one mech there maintaining the sacred artefacts.

Crossing to the antechamber, the door to which was tightly closed, Prime stood outside, silent for only a moment.

"I thought I would find you here."

Silence.

"You have always had a flair for the histrionic, have you not? And I knew the irony would not be lost on you, a blasphemer like yourself taking refuge in a holy place."

The stillness of the air was broken only by the shimmering dust particles catching the uneven light.

Prime sighed. "Why don't you come out, Starscream?"

Finally, the answer he had awaited. "I'm not a fool, Prime. I know the law. If I surrender myself willingly, I lose the sanctuary I have here, and you will have me arrested and killed."

"Don't be stupid. I would make sure you received justice."

"Just like you did for Megatron?"

It was all Prime could do to quietly struggle around his words for a moment.

"Megatron's death was a tragic misunderstanding," he whispered, no conviction in the words, the guilt weighing down heavily on him.

A snort. "Megatron's death was an Autobot propaganda murder, Prime. Did you know he would be interrogated?"

The once-proud leader sagged a little. ".... yes, I did."

"You know what they did?"

"The details were kept private from me."

The faceless voice from behind the door laughed a cold, humourless, bitter laugh. "They broke his legs. Burned him with a brand. Cut his exoplating. Beat him."

From the sound of his voice, which started to slow into a self-satisfied, bitter drawl, Starscream was taking some pleasure from relaying these details to Prime, who did not respond.

"When they brought him onto the podium to shoot him, he could barely walk."

"It seems that Megatron still holds a great deal of control over you."

Starscream was silenced instantly. Even through the impenetrable metal wall and the closed door, Prime could feel the tangible tendrils of petulant sulking leaking through.

Feeling that the verbal battlefield was equalled, Prime sighed again, pressed one hand to the door. "The entire military is on high alert looking for you. You can't stay in there forever. What about energon?"

"Kh."

"I am not here at the behest of the Senate."

The jet snorted, half in disgust and half in humour. "Do you take me for a fool?"

"I tell the truth. You know well enough how much power I truly hold in this new governmental institution."

After the long pause that followed that, Prime saw the door open a fraction. Knowing that Starscream had no reason to trust him, he took a step back and watched as the sliver widened and one baleful red optic stared cold vengeance at him.

"So why are you here?" hissed the jet through the crack in the door. "Why come looking for me if you don't want to arrest me?"

"You would not believe me if I told you I had come to speak with Primus?"

Starscream snorted. "Don't try to deceive a Decepticon."

"Very well." A sigh. "By no means do I want to hand you over to the current government after their handling of Megatron, to whom I had promised clemency. Though you were involved in the murders of my comrades and of my second-in-command -"

"I had nothing to do with that high-strung slaghead's death," Starscream muttered. Optimus ignored him.

"Nevertheless, what the Senate is doing to you is unfair."

The red optics narrowed. "... 'Doing to me'?"

"You have not heard of Skywarp's situation? He was taken in for questioning earlier this orn. Apparently he beat the mech he was consort to so badly that he was almost killed."

Starscream was still a moment, then Prime saw his strake-laden shoulders heave in a shrug. "What difference does that make to me? Skywarp is an idiot."

He was met by Prime shaking his head. "Skywarp did _not_ attack his master. I know this because I happened to catch a glimpse of him walking at the very time Mirage was on the other side of Altihex being assaulted."

"....." Starscream sneered. "Don't play me for a sap. _You_ don't care about injustice, you've already made that clear to me."

"I was told Megatron would be treated fairly."

"That's no excuse!" spat the seeker. "You stole my kill from me, Autobot murdering scum filth!" The door slammed shut in Prime's face, the red optic flaring out in anger before it was lost from sight.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Hound grunted softly as he landed heavily on his left arm, another small noise of discomfort escaping his vocaliser as his mangled hologram emitter bounced off his shoulder and landed on the floor near his head. Behind him, the cell door closed with a very final-sounding clang, enshrouding the small cell in darkness. The scout did not even think to activate his infra-red; he already knew that the place would be desolate and barren, yielding no such thing as a loose seam or weak fracture in the metal.

Straightening and nursing his aching shoulder, the soldier cursed himself for failing in his mission, for letting his commander down, for being so stupid as to allow himself to be detected only a breem into the start of his surveillance. Not that he could report to the general, of course; the first thing the paranoid Emirate had ordered was that his radio and internal communications be fried out.

"Damn," he said to himself, calmer than he felt, his voice matter-of-fact and resigned to his failure and his fate. Azure optics flared, lending some scant light to the darkness, and he became aware of another pair of blue pinpricks staring at him.

"Hound?" called a voice he recognised but could not place, "is that you?"

Fighting down his initial surprise at there being another mech in this hole, Hound squinted in the direction of the voice, finally thinking to activate his infra-red. A comfortingly familiar shape loomed out of the darkness; a large, shuttle with an innocent, well-meaning face, sitting next to what appeared to be a large, misformed cinder block.

"Skyfire?" The Jeep's jaw dropped in disbelief, and the sitting mech nodded once in affirmation. "We were told you were dead... that you'd gone offworld and been killed..."

A single shake of the great white head. "As you see," replied the scientist snidely, "I'm not dead. I'm in here, and I've been in here since just after Starscream made his move and ran for it." A small moan came from the cinder block; a second glance revealed it to be another mech, curled up half-transformed, huddled brokenly against the wall and against Skyfire's thigh. The shuttle glanced at it and laid a hand on its plating. "Red Alert is here too, as you can see."

"That's _Red_?"

Another moan answered, and Skyfire shook his head. "He fritzed almost as soon as we were brought in. I've been doing what I can for him, but there's not much I _can_ do, if I am frank."

"But why would the Emirate have you imprisoned?" asked the green-bodied scout, shuffling closer for the proximity to another living, processing Cybertronian.

"Officially," came the toneless response, "we were arrested because of our past dealings with Starscream, despite the fact that my association with him was before Megatron was even known to be a threat and Red was out of his mind when he made his dealings."

Hound caught the undertone and asked sardonically, "and unofficially?"

A weary shrug. When he did at last answer, Skyfire's tone was dark. "I know for a fact that some senate bullies were putting the pressure on Perceptor to undertake a job developing some new kind of weapon. Perceptor was adamant he would have nothing to do with it – as for what I can gather, he has been making good progress since my arrest."

For a moment, there was silence.

"I don't understand. Weapons development? That's not Perceptor's forte at all. Why not get Wheeljack to do it? He'd certainly resist less, I'm sure."

"Don't you know? Wheeljack's been MIA for deca-cycles. No one at Altihex _or_ Cronum has seen him since Prowl was murdered."

Again, the dark silence, punctuated only by Red's animalistic whimpers, as though he were in pain.

"They convicted Starscream of that," Hound mumbled finally, "at his trial."

"Of what, sorry?"

"Prowl's murder."

Skyfire's azure optics narrowed. "I don't believe for an instant he had anything to do with it."

"Despite the fact he's a murdering sadist?"

Regardless of Hound's pressing, Skyfire remained adamant. "I was present at his trial, and I saw the military director read the charges out. Prowl's death was the only thing on that list he denied – and I know Starscream is the type to take pride in his achievements, no matter how disgusting and violent they are. If he _had_ killed Prowl, he would have announced it at the top of his screechy voice in that courtroom. No, I think he's been set up as a scapegoat." Another shrug. "Not that it makes much difference what I think, with me in here and him being condemned to execution anyway."

Another silence. It dragged on.

Skyfire sighed and stroked Red's plating; the one-time security director moaned again helplessly, flecks of lubricant spattering from his lips, his optics wide and fearful but dim. Hound glanced at him and reached to touch, to offer comfort, but Skyfire shook his head slowly and gently pushed his hand away.

"Best not risk it," he whispered, holding up his spare hand – there were unhealed bite marks over the knuckles, marring the once-perfect plating.

The scout withdrew his hand, unable to help cringing a little as he considered the fate of yet another mech he had once fought alongside – perhaps death would have been kinder.

".... You hear a lot in here," Skyfire said softly, light and conversational. "The guards and the interrogators gossip endlessly. I think I have learned more about current affairs in here than I ever did outside. Last thing I heard, an Alpha was attacked and almost killed in Tyrest, and one of the Decepticons was arrested on suspicion for it." His optics dimmed. "They took him down to one of the high-security holding cells for questioning. He's not in good shape... I do not recall the Decepticon's name, but from the description of the victim, it was either Tracks or Mirage."

"It was Mirage," the green-bodied mech mumbled quietly, before his head snapped up. "W – but that information was classified! No one outside of law enforcement should know it!"

"Read into it what you will," said Skyfire, sparing Hound a Look. A moment later, he sighed again. "... I can't say more here. I'm pretty sure the room is bugged, which is most likely part of the reason for Red's breakdown. You know how sensitive he is to taps and breaches."

Before Hound could respond, the shuffling half-transformed mess of Red Alert screamed and threw his head back against the wall with a clang. Oil sprayed from his lips, misting lightly over the scout's plating as Skyfire soothed the dazed security director.

"... What was _that_!?"

"That was his sensor reacting," replied Skyfire softly, stroking his fingers soothingly down Red's bonnet. "It happens every time someone enters the corridor this cell opens on to."

Sure enough, mere nanokliks later, heavy footsteps sounded approaching the cell, and Hound looked around just in time for his optics to be dazzled into temporary blindness by the door opening abruptly and shedding the pitch-black cell with light; Skyfire had had the good sense (or maybe just the practise) to look away, and Red was beyond caring.

"You," growled one of the three burly mechs framed by the halo of white light, his finger pointing rudely at Hound. "You're comin' with us. We got some questions and you got some answers."

Fast and wraithlike, the interrogator's two enforcers swept up next to the scout, shackling his wrists and dragging him to his feet.

As he glanced back while being hauled from the holding cell, Hound caught a glimpse of Skyfire's mournful gaze following him, before the shuttle turned back to carefully wipe away a dribble of spent oil that was leaking its way down Red's chin.

oOo

"So you see, my Lord, I had stationed him to disguise himself only to give you added security, should one of the dissenters attack you..." Aeschor narrowly dodged Ratbat's backhand; the Emirate was seething.

"I did not order your security! Don't waste my time, you wretch!" The politician's golden optics narrowed. "You are not programmed to take the initiative, you are programmed to _obey_, so _obey me_! Next time you step out of line, I will not be so merciful with whichever sad sap of a mech you station to spy on me!"

"My Lord," crooned the military supervisor beseechingly, "the blame lies with me, not with my soldiers. They perform only to the best of their abilities under my lead. Should you punish a mech for this intrusion, then please lay your punishment upon my shoulders."

Ratbat relaxed, slightly mollified. ".... make sure it does not happen again. My patience with you undercastes is wearing thin." At a silent command over his communicator, two mechs carried out Hound; though the soldier was doing his best to walk on his own, he had to be supported quite heavily.

Aeschor nodded his thanks in one gesture as he stooped to give support to his subordinate. "I thank you, great Emirate, for your mercy."

"Begone from my sight, filth," snapped Ratbat, placated but clearly in no mood to be interrupted longer. Slowly, the two military mechs hobbled from sight.

"... I am sorry to be a burden, sir," Hound managed, his voice noticeably thick and slurred. "He detected me on his sensors almost immediately."

Kindly, Aeschor shook his head. "You're a good mech, Hound. The blame lies with me. I should have considered the possibility, and not put you at risk."

"Glad to risk myself for the greater good, sir."

The general glanced at one of Hound's hands when he felt it clawed, tense and shaking against his plating – and even the hardened soldier's processor lurched when he saw that all the fingertips were missing, wrenched off by the roots. One of them was still sparking.

"Ah..." Hound smirked wryly when he noticed where his commander's gaze was fixed. "I did not tell them anything that would implicate yourself or Lord Reverence in any way, sir."

"... For that you have my deepest thanks." Aeschor supported Hound to the small skimmer he had used to reach Ratbat's spire. "Right, soldier!" he barked as he took the pilot's controls, Hound safely in the copilot's seat, "when we reach the barracks, you are to go directly to repairs and have yourself a well-deserved rest from duty." His expression softened. "That's an order."

"Thank you, sir." Hound answered, his voice soft, his gaze distracted. "Before that, though, there is some information of interest that I think requires your attention..."

oOo

"Report," snapped the Emirate, cold contempt the only emotion showing behind his icy visor, "or have you been wasting time instead of hunting for a dangerous fugitive?"

Prime stood stiffly to attention, his own optics fixed directly on those of his superior. "On the contrary," he lied smoothly, his mouthplate giving away nothing, "I patrolled the Toor perimeter and found no trace of Starscream there, nor anything to suggest he even landed in that vector."

"...." Reverence regarded him critically before opening a link on his communicator and saying, slowly and clearly so that Prime could hear, "... I want a strikeforce organised. Proceed to Toor and smoke the fugitive Decepticon out of hiding."

"Sir," crackled the faceless voice over the open radio link, "what about the law of Sanctuary if he is in the shrine?"

"There is no need to enter. Barricade it. In time, the need for energon will drive him out, or his systems will starve to death. Either way, his sentence will be carried out and justice served. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, sir. Landshark out."

There was an air of smugness about Reverence's otherwise expressionless lips as he stared at Prime, who regarded him coolly.

"My Lord," questioned Optimus at last, "why the waste of resources? I have just told you, I checked that area personally and found no trace of the Decepticon."

Reverence sneered. "I do not trust you, Optronix, and until I can verify myself that the Decepticon is not there, I will not take your word for it."

"You are wasting resources and energy better spent elsewhere," countered Prime desperately, wondering if by trying to save Starscream, he had condemned the mech.

"What better spend of energy than public security?" replied the Emirate waspishly. "You are not half the Prime that Sentinel was, you glorified archivist."

"In your eyes," replied Prime calmly, "no one could be."

The Autobot leader looked around as there was a soft knock on the door, which opened to reveal Aeschor. Reverence stared at his military co-ordinator a moment before waving his hand at Prime as a silent gesture that he was finished with the matrix-bearer. "You're dismissed, Prime."

Wordlessly, silently seething, Prime rose and turned on his heel, leaving the Emirate's conference room, catching only the beginning of Aeschor's sentence as the door closed heavily behind him.

"My Lord," the general was saying, "I have something of great interest to tell you..."


End file.
